Loyalty
by AzureSkye23
Summary: When Námo's chief Maia, Istamírë, is captured by Melkor, she is expecting to have her loyalty to her lord challenged. But not like this... Warning for generally Melkor nastiness. Now continued into a threeshot!
1. Loyalty

**I'm alive...I think...*thunk***

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Loyalty

"Well, well, well," Melkor said, pausing in the midst of looking over the Maiar he had just captured. "Istamírë. Now this is a pleasant surprise."

Námo's chief Maia said nothing, and simply glared at the Vala, her clothing ripped and her face bruised.

"It's not every day that I enjoy the company of one of the best strategists in Eä, after all," Melkor continued. "Nor is it common to find one of my brother and his little friends' favorites all alone and vulnerable—But that just goes to show even the best make mistakes, hmm?" Istamírë's eyes hardened and her jaw clenched, but she still said nothing. Melkor, who had been watching to see her reaction, merely chuckled.

"Well, Istamírë, you're an intelligent Maia," Melkor said briskly when he saw he would get nothing else from her. "You realize there is an easy way and a hard way. So I'll ask you: will you spare yourself the pain of refusing me, and swear to serve me?" Istamírë raised her head, eyes blazing defiantly.

"No," she said softly, but with utter finality. Melkor sighed in mock disappointment.

"Hard way it is," He commented, grabbing her wrists and dragging her forward. He chained her to an iron pole, low enough that the tall Maia was forced to kneel. Then he took a single step back and nodded to one of his Maiar, who with a savage grin, brought a leather whip down on Istamírë's unprotected back. After only about five strokes, though, Melkor stopped him.

"That is only a taste of what I can to you, Istamírë," he said softly. "Are you sure you wish to endure this pain? One word from you will set you free."

"I will not serve you," Istamírë said though gritted teeth.

"So be it," Melkor said coldly, and nodded again to the Maia with the whip. This time, the Vala let him continue until Istamírë was crying from pain.

"Istamírë, darling," Melkor said, kneeling in front of her after he had signaled the other Maia to stop. "Why do you make me do this?" He gently wiped her cheeks, and ran his hands over her shaking shoulders.

"You can be so valuable to me, if you would only agree to serve me," Melkor murmured, stroking her hair. "Won't you agree to do so, and let me stop?"

"No," Istamírë choked out. "I am loyal to my lord."

"Loyal," Melkor echoed. "Yes, that you are." He leaned in closer.

"But Istamírë," he whispered. "What do you think your lord will do when I drag you before him, battered and bleeding, and threatened to rape you in front of him unless he yields himself to me, hmm?" Istamírë raised her head to stare at the Vala in horror. Melkor smiled gently at her, and continued to stroke her hair.

"Would not your loyalty be better spent making sure that never happened?" Melkor asked. Istamírë said nothing, and Melkor stood.

"I'll let you think about it," he said, turning to walk off. Suddenly Melkor roared, collapsing under an unexpected attack. Istamírë's pain-snarled mind had trouble comprehending the chaos that occurred next, but when she found her shackles gone, she tried to flee. Hands stopped her and lifted her into a Vala's arms, and she cried out in fear.

"Istamírë, sweetheart, be still. I don't want to hurt you more." At the familiar sound of Námo's voice, Istamírë instantly went limp, letting her lord carry her out of the noise and confusion. The next thing she knew, she was home, with Námo settling carefully to the ground, speaking softly to Estë, who pushed aside the Maia's long hair to get a better look at her back.

"Is everyone safe?" Istamírë whispered.

"Yes, sweetheart," Námo assured her. "Everyone is safe, and you are the most injured."

"We were lucky, then," Istamírë said.

"I would not go that far, but I am glad no one was more hurt than they were," Námo murmured. "I am sorry, though, that I could not come sooner."

"You came before he could start in on anyone other than me," Istamírë said as Estë began to heal her back. "And I…I was more furious than frightened. Until the end."

"What happened at the end?" Námo asked. Istamírë shook her head and dropped it to the Vala's chest.

"Istamírë. Tell me what happened," Námo said gently but firmly.

"It was after this," Istamírë said, gingerly indicating her back. "He asked me again to serve him, and I again said no, that I was loyal to you," she paused and swallowed.

"He asked me what I though you would do if he dragged me before you, and threatened to rape me in front of you unless you yielded yourself to him. And I was terrified," she finally whispered. Námo gently smoothed a hand over her hair and said nothing for a while.

"Istamírë, had Melkor done so, I would have demanded you and the other Maiar, and done exactly what he demanded," Námo finally said in a low voice. Istamírë raised her head to look him in the eyes.

"I know," she said simply. "That's why I was frightened."

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**So this is dedicated to all the lovely people who have written me reviews lately, poking me to update...Mostly Reclamation. So thank you. I am going to reply...sometime...promise? **

**And one last thing: Would you like to see this continued into a three shot? I have the idea, but not sure if a mostly OC centric story would be really interesting to my readers. Up to you, guys and gals. **

**Please review! **


	2. Fear

Fear

Istamírë sunk exhaustedly into a warm bath, the water fragrant with herbs designed to help her recover emotionally as well as physically. She leaned back gingerly, mindful of her newly healed back, and did her best not to think. It did not last long, for suddenly another was there with her, someone she knew intimately.

"Almaron!" she cried, sitting up quickly. She barely had enough time to pull her arms up to wrap them around his neck before he had pulled her into a crushing hug. She gasped as it pulled on her back. His arms instantly loosened.

"I'm sorry, my love," he murmured into her damp hair. She could feel him trembling, and she was too, she realized, with the backdraft of his emotions as their bond flared fully into life. Ebbing, but still very much present, was his desperate fear; growing stronger, his joy and relief that she was here, she was safe…

Something about that last emotion broke something inside of her, something she had been holding tightly in check, and suddenly she whimpered, burying her head in her husband's shoulder as fear suddenly enveloped her. Intensifying it was her uncertainty as to why it even existed: she had not been this frightened in front of Melkor himself!

"Easy, Istamírë," Námo said soothingly, laying a hand on her back. Istamírë realized Almaron must have called him.

"Almaron, help me get her out," Námo murmured, and together they lifted her from the bath, wrapping her in a towel. Istamírë never let go of Almaron. When she was settled, Námo simply pulled both of his Maiar to him, sandwiching Istamírë between them.

"It's alright, sweetheart," Námo said softly. "You were so very brave. You are feeling all the fear you refused to let yourself feel then. Let it out; don't bottle it up inside or it will destroy you."

Istamírë clung to them both, her only anchor as the wild storm of her emotions swirled. But slowly, they settled again, leaving her exhausted. Her grip loosened, but she cuddled closer as her eyes drifted shut in sleep. The last thing she heard was Námo's soft hummed lullaby, it's reassuring comfort bringing a small measure of the peace she had first lost at her capture returning to her heart.

When she woke, she was swaddled in warm blankets and rich pillows, all of which she recognized as her little sister's handy-work. Nyárë must have come while she was sleeping. But now Námo was the only other in the clearing. He was sitting next to her, his back against a tree, one leg drawn up. He had been staring up, a pensive expression on his face, but as Istamírë stirred, he looked down at her with a gentle smile.

"Are you finally awake then?" he asked her.

"How long have I been asleep?" Istamírë asked in confusion.

"For six revolutions of this planet," Námo replied. Istamírë blinked in shock. She had ever only slept for at most a half revolution, and usually less.

"As Estë would tell you, you slept that long to heal," Námo explained gently. "Your back, at the very least, should not give you any more problems." Istamírë experimentally stretched, pleased to find her lord correct as her muscles flexed without protest.

"As for what else your sleep was able to do for you…" Námo continued, "How do you feel?" Istamírë paused to consider her emotional state.

"Better, I think," she finally said. "I'm not scared…not right now. But there's still something…" she paused, trying to figure out how to articulate how she felt.

"Fragile," she finally decided was a good term for it. Námo watched her closely.

"That's only to be expected," he said. "Do you feel up to rejoining the others?"

"No!" Istamírë said instantly, as fear began to well up in her again at the thought. Námo instantly pulled Istamírë into his arms.

"Shh," he soothed softly, and Istamírë calmed again. She idly smoothed her fingers over the embroidery on her nightdress, remembering when her sister had gifted it to her. That memory held no fear, so why did the idea of seeing anyone other than Námo or Almaron hold such fear for her?

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know why I'm so frightened." She bit her lip. Surely she was stronger than this. She had responsibilities! There was no way she could lay here like a frightened child. She had to get up, be strong, take charge, pull Námo's people together again after the turmoil that would have surely occurred after her capture. That is what she should do; that was what Námo was counting on her to do as his chief Maia.

"It's alright, Istamírë," Námo reassured her. "You are still healing. It will take time." Frustration swelled. No, she didn't have time…

"What is it, Istamírë?" Námo asked her, sensing her distress. Istamírë shook her head.

"Istamírë," Námo said firmly.

"I can't…I can't be your chief Maia like this," she finally whispered brokenly.

"Oh sweetheart," Námo whispered, "I am not replacing you, my precious daughter. Do not even think it for a second. I cannot even imagine another in your place. You will heal. You will see. However long it takes…though I do not think it will truly take that much time. You will see."

"I think…I think what frightens me most…what if I had…" Istamírë trailed off.

"I would have never stopped loving you," Námo said with soft finality. "And I would have done whatever it took to bring you home. No matter how long it took. I would never leave you to the darkness."

Istamírë wrapped an arm around Námo's neck, buried her face, and wept, finding release in her tears and the soft hand that stroked her hair. Finally, her tears found an end, and she wiped her cheeks.

"Truthfully, Istamírë, I do not think I am ready to leave here and to rejoin the others either," Námo murmured to her. She looked up in confusion. Námo gave her a half-smile.

"I was frightened too," he murmured. Understanding dawned as Istamírë found the empathy in Námo's eyes. And that understanding brought peace: peace and patience. They both needed to heal from what Melkor had done to them—though that was thankfully far less than what might have been. But heal they would. Together.

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**So I originally wrote Loyalty Christmas of 2013. Now a year and half later, I finally find the inspiration to write the second bit...so yes, this is going to be a threeshot, for all of you that wanted it! **


	3. Scars

Scars

Istamírë sighed incredibly softly as he examined the scars on her back. They were faint—Estë had done a good job. The memories of how they had been inflicted had faded as well—still perfectly remembered, but no longer haunting. She could probably erase the scars if she wished to.

But did she want to? Part of her did—wanted to pretend it had never happened, that she had never made the mistake that had led to her capture.

But another part of her didn't want to. Didn't want to forget the price paid for loyalty. And they were also a reminder of what they were fighting for: to live free of the fear of what had almost happened to her.

Istamírë narrowed her eyes, and the scars solidified as part of her fána. Yes, she would keep them and one day when it was over, she would look back and remember all that had been lost—and all that had been won.

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**Yup, it's short. And now done!**


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